Third Time's A Charm
by Scarlett Barnes
Summary: Sansa Stark doesn't think she can love again. But maybe, a Targaryen king can show her how. (One-shot showing the first meeting of my fave 'what if' ship)


**A/N: Hey everybody! This fic contains spoilers for ADWD and WOW, and R+L=J. If you don't want spoilers, don't read. Anyways, this is quite possibly one of my favorite ships within the series. Sansa just needs some love. This is an AU that takes place (presumably) after the events of the main series; Rickon is dead, Arya is a faceless woman, and Bran is the new Bloodraven, so Sansa is under the impression all her siblings are dead. Jon is the Lord of Winterfell, Aegon is the King of the Seven Kingdoms, and Daenerys is the Lady of Dragonstone. If there's enough interest, I may consider doing this as a series. But, for right now, it's a one-shot. Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

Sansa Stark felt much older than her sixteen years. Life had swallowed her up and spat her back out, leaving her crumpled and broken. By the time she was fifteen, she'd seen herself married twice and widowed as many times. It wasn't until much later that she learned her first husband, Lord Tyrion Lannister, had not in fact perished after killing his own father. After the wars were finally over, and he'd emerged on the winning side, Tyrion had been kind enough to annul their marriage officially. Though it made no matter; her second husband, Harrold Hardyng, had been killed in the fighting between the dragons long before the end of the war.

And here she was again, preparing to walk down the aisle for a third time and shed her maiden's cloak once more; though this time, she would don the black and red of House Targaryen. Some found it hard to believe that Sansa Stark was a maid still. _How could she be?_ they wondered. A woman married twice couldn't possibly still have her maidenhead. But when the maester inspected her—as Lord Varys had suggested to silence the whispers—he'd found her still intact. It was miraculous, Sansa had to admit. After her wedding to Harry—where he'd been far too drunk to consummate their union—he'd been called to fight the very next day. Perhaps her father's gods had been watching over her then, or mayhap it had just been another of Lord Baelish's schemes. Harry had fought on the losing side, and she'd had no way of knowing that when she watched him ride out of the Bloody Gate it would be last time she saw him. King Aegon and Lady Daenerys' dragons had seen to that.

Some part of Sansa held affection for Harry, but she'd be named a liar if she said she had loved him. When the raven came bearing the news of his demise upon the battlefield, Sansa had donned her mourning clothes, but no tears fell. He was one of many that had been lost, and he was not the last. Just yesterday, Lord Petyr Baelish—the man who had protected her, cared for her, loved her in his own way, and ultimately had used her—was executed upon the steps of the Great Sept of Baelor, just as her Lord Father had been. Lord Petyr had fought for the losing side as well.

Sansa gazed out the window of her tower in the Red Keep, absorbed by her thoughts. So much had changed in such a short period of time. Three years ago, she never thought she would see this place again; had never wanted to, either. Now this would be her home for the rest of her life. Once, long ago, she'd desired nothing more than to be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, but that dream had died along with her father in front of the sept. When the offer had come again, to be queen, the prospect had left a bitter taste in her mouth.

"Jon," she had pleaded with the young man she'd always known as her brother, "how can you even think of this? I cannot be shipped off to the Red Keep again. I will not!"

"Sansa, please," he said softly, coming and wrapping an arm around her quivering shoulders. "No decision has been made yet, and I would never force you to do something you didn't want to. But I'm asking you to consider this. You will have a good life, be well taken care of, and the king wishes to make an alliance with us." Sansa gazed up at the newly made Lord Stark through watery eyes, the tears flowing freely down her beautiful face.

"He spurned the Martell girl," Sansa spat venomously, "why would he want me?"

"I'm sure it has something to do with the fact that the North is nearly twice the size of Dorne," Jon explained slowly. "And they are already connected through blood. The king does not wish to suffer any rebellions or opposition to his rule."

"Can't you convince him that he has nothing to fear from us? Without me having to marry him?" Sansa was on her knees now, gripping Jon's cloak tightly. "You are connected to him by blood as well," she continued desperately. "Is the bond of brothers not strong enough to convince him?"

"He does not know me as his brother, Sansa. We may have the same father, but there is no love between us. Not as of yet, anyways." Jon smiled slightly down at his cousin, stroking her auburn hair comfortingly. "Will you at least meet him? You may find he is quite to your liking." Sansa sniffed slightly, wiping the tears off her cheeks. She looked up at Jon and saw the kindness in his gray eyes, and she knew then that he would never do anything to hurt her.

* * *

A month later, King Aegon VI Targaryen arrived at Winterfell atop his dragon. The great white beast circled the air above the castle before coming to the ground just outside the walls, shaking from its head to its tail, the way a dog would. Sansa stared in equal horror and wonderment at a creature which she'd only ever heard stories of. It spread its wings out to the side, and crouched low to the ground. It was truly a beautiful sight to behold, Sansa thought. And then she saw the man that jumped down gracefully from its back.

He was tall and lean, though still muscular, with hair the color moonlight. A golden circlet rested atop his head, set with rubies and emeralds, and he wore a jet black doublet and breeches, slashed with the crimson red of his house. She could just make out the emblem of his house stitched into the breast. The king looked about him at the great walls of Winterfell, gazing at the surrounding barren landscape with what looked to Sansa like a smile. She couldn't imagine what he was smiling about, being so far away from the Red Keep. But there was a youthful energy to him that Sansa could already feel herself being drawn to. Perhaps Jon had been right…

A great host came soon after, bearing the standard of the three-headed dragon. Lord Jon Stark greeted the king as he came into the courtyard; Sansa watched from a window high up above and well out of sight. She was not quite ready to meet the king yet, but was just curious enough to watch the proceedings with interest.

* * *

There was a feast that night, which the eldest Stark daughter attended, sitting quietly at the table upon the dais. She picked at the food on her plate, mostly just pushing it around in a circular pattern. The feast hall was deafeningly loud, but Sansa was wrapped up in her own head, wondering about the stranger that sat just a few feet away. At one point in the evening, she looked up from her plate and over to her cousin, where he sat in the center of the table. Indigo eyes stared back at her, deeply intent on studying her face. Sansa felt the blood rushing to her cheeks and quickly looked back at her plate, but she could not shake the fluttering that had begun in her stomach. The rest of that evening, Sansa felt the burning of his eyes upon her skin… those beautiful eyes.

* * *

"My lady," the king said, bowing low and placing a kiss upon her hand the next day when they met. Jon stood in the corner, watching the meeting intently like any good chaperone would, alert for any sign that Sansa was uncomfortable.

"My king," Sansa replied softly, curtsying deeply so that her dark blue dress pooled about her on the stone floor. "It is an honor to have you in our home." Even after all this time, she was still a polite little bird when she had to be. But no man would ever hurt her, not again. This little bird wore mail beneath her feathers.

"The honor is all mine," the young Targaryen king replied, his voice surprisingly gentle. Sansa's eyes had been trained on the ground until this point, when she allowed herself to look the king full in the face. His silver hair framed his face and contrasted starkly with the dark purple of his eyes. A small smile rested on full lips under an aquiline nose. She would be lying if she said she did not find him handsome, and this did not escape the Lord of Winterfell's notice.

"Sansa," Jon said softly, though the girl still jumped at the sudden sound of his voice. "Why don't you show the king around the castle? I'm sure he'd be delighted to see the glass gardens." The king's smile widened, but he never took his eyes off Sansa. And soon, she found, Sansa was able to return his smile in kind.

* * *

The king was attentive and kind; he seemed genuinely interested in the fruits and vegetables Sansa pointed out to him; but above all, Sansa found herself smiling easily for the first time in a long time. Something about the young king put her at ease. Perhaps it was his relaxed manner, or the way he looked at her mouth when she spoke, as if he was hanging on every word she said. Or maybe, it was just the way she felt she had nothing to fear in his presence. He had a dragon after all, not to mention the other two that were his aunt's. Who could ever hope to oppose him or do him harm? He really was Aegon the Conqueror come again.

After the glass gardens, they strolled through the godswood, taking in the peace and serenity.

"This is a beautiful place," Aegon said quietly, as though he were afraid of disturbing the ancient spirits that resided there. "I have read about the ancient gods of the North, but the literature on them is very limited. What can you tell me?" He turned his body toward her as they walked.

"In truth," she began, looking down at the nettles that covered the ground, "Your Grace, I was raised on my mother's religion. She followed the Seven; but my Father kept the old gods. He would come here often, to pray beneath the heart tree. It's said that the children of the forest carved faces into the weirwoods because they believed the trees _were_ the gods. Now they are carved so the gods can bear witness to important events through the eyes of the trees." The king was silent, and when Sansa looked up at him she saw his hair falling into his face slightly in the absence of his crown. Sansa noticed the boyish look he still had about him. He was still young, just as she was. There was an amused smirk plastered upon his face as well, as though he were thinking of some private joke or silly memory.

"But you don't believe that?" he questioned, plucking a leaf off a nearby branch and inspecting it closely.

Sansa was quiet for a long time, stewing on her thoughts. "I'm not entirely certain what I believe," she whispered finally, feeling tears brimming in her eyes. Aegon became concerned at the sudden shift in her voice and placed a hand upon her shoulder, causing her to stop in her tracks.

"My lady, I did not mean to upset you." Sansa wiped hastily at the tears and put on a pretty smile.

"It isn't your fault, Your Grace," she said amiably, continuing her trek through the trees. "I am not certain if you know much of the ordeal I suffered through the War of the Five Kings, and even after."

"I have heard a few things, yes," he replied carefully, watching her expression. But it didn't shift; she'd had much practice at concealing her emotions over the past few years. Only sometimes, they happened to slip out when she was least expecting it, like just now. She made a note to be more cautious; for some reason, it worried her that the king might view her as weak.

They continued through the dense forest of trees as she thought of how best to continue. _What to omit? And what to tell?_ Something gripped at her heart, and Sansa decided she was safe. They were at the hot pools under the weirwood, steam rising from the placid surface in snaking tendrils that disappeared into its blood red leaves. The young king stared up at the giant heart tree in wonderment, marveling at the stark contrast of the crimson leaves against the bone white bark of its branches and trunk.

"It's beautiful," he whispered, indigo eyes wide as they took in the sight of the ancient tree.

"Yes," Sansa agreed. "The heart tree at the Red Keep is not nearly as old as ours, and not nearly as big."

"That is the only example I have for reference, but I find it pales in comparison to this one," Aegon said, smiling down at her. Sansa was a tall girl, but the king still stood above her. She returned his smile and then continued on around the pools, enjoying the warmth they were giving off. It was spring once more, but in the North there was always the threat of the cold. And especially this morning, the air was brisk. Sansa pulled her cloak tighter about her shoulders and edged closer to the warmth of the hot spring. They came to the sprawling roots of the tree, where Sansa could still remember her father sitting and polishing his greatsword. The memory almost brought tears to her eyes again, but, mercifully, she held them at bay.

The king was once again lost for words when his eyes fell upon the great carved face set into the weirwood, staring out at them with hollow eyes. Sap was running freely down the crooks and crannies of the wood, marking out little rivers of red where it flowed. It seemed the tree was crying tears of blood, but Sansa was not unsettled, strangely enough. As she stared into the eyes of the tree, a feeling of comfort and happiness washed over her, immediately lifting her spirits.

"There is something magical about this place," Sansa said softly, breaking the spell that had fallen over the pair. The king looked at her and marveled at the serene look upon her face. He would have thought the Maiden herself stood before him, if he was a green summer child.

"Yes, there is," he replied. "If I may be so bold, Lady Sansa, why do you not believe in your father's gods?" Sansa looked down at her hands where they were clasped at her waist, her thumbs circling over one another subconsciously.

"I prayed to the Seven every night when I was being held in King's Landing," she began softly. "And then to my father's gods… No one ever seemed to answer. It's hard to believe in anything now. I was saved by what I thought was the kindness of a stranger, but turned out to be a man wanting to use me for his own purposes. I thought I was free, but… But I wasn't." She fell silent then, looking into the empty eyes of the tree. The wind swept through the leaves, rustling them against each other, and for a moment, she swore the rustling sounded like her name.

"I cannot begin to imagine the atrocities that you witnessed; that you endured, my lady." Aegon turned to face her, tentatively reaching out a hand to grasp hers lightly. "But," he continued, "if you'll allow me, I will spend my life making sure it never happens again." Sansa looked down at where their hands met, feeling a tingling sensation run up her arm and into her heart.

The memories came flooding back then; of her father, and Robb and Bran and Rickon, who'd died during the war; of Arya whom she hadn't seen since they'd been separated at King's Landing; of her Lady Mother who had died trying to protect her children; of Ser Dontos and the Hound; of every person she'd ever loved or cared for that had died. The tears came flooding out of her, but she made no sound. Every fiber of hatred or sorrow flowed down her face and splashed upon the ground, ebbing away to be absorbed into the soil and roots. And when she lifted her face to look into the eyes of the king—this kind, caring man whom she'd only just met, but that she already felt connected to—they were not tears of sadness, but of joy. Sansa smiled wide and nodded slightly. She did not know if she could ever love again, but she knew that she would be willing to try with him.

Aegon Targaryen brought her hand up to his mouth and kissed it, trying to contain the joy that was threatening to break through on his face. He had not expected to be so infatuated with the only surviving child of Lord Eddard Stark, but he was not in the least displeased. Their marriage would seal his pact with the North, but even more than that, he was certain she would make him an excellent queen. He could see that she had endured much in her young life, and there was a beautiful strength underneath the softness she exuded. How could one so battered and broken stand so tall and proud? He did not know, but he intended to do all he could to learn.

Sansa told Jon of her decision later that evening, and plans were made for a wedding. While Jon was grateful that the king's demand for peace throughout the realm would be realized, he could not help but grin at the look of happiness upon Sansa's face. Even though they were not brother and sister, he would always think of her that way, and wished nothing but joy for her life. It seemed to him, that she would finally get the happy ending the singer's wrote of, like she'd always longed for.

* * *

Sansa Stark felt much older than her sixteen years, but today, she was a giddy young thing once more. It was her wedding day, but this time, she'd chosen the man herself. No one had forced her into a marriage she did not want, and no one was trying to use her for political gain. The man she would marry cared for her, and she for him. They would be happy together, she knew. She was already happy. There was an underlying sadness, however, that neither of her parents nor any of her siblings had lived to see this day. She liked to think that they were watching her from somewhere, though. And maybe, they were watching over her in some small way, helping her along to fulfill her happiness.

* * *

As the newly wedded couple stepped out onto the steps of the Great Sept, a great cheer arose amongst the people. They finally felt as though peace had returned to the realm, if only for a time. But they would enjoy it while it lasted. Hidden amongst the throngs of people, curled at the stone feet of King Baelor Targaryen, was a young girl with mousy brown hair. No one spared her a glance, nor wondered about the little urchin who had come to witness the marriage of a king and noble lady. But the girl watched intently, gazing sadly at the beautiful woman with the red hair.

They had been sisters once, but no longer. And as the girl with no name weaved through the crowd and into the city, she was just glad Sansa Stark had found some measure of happiness in this bleak and dismal world.

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 **Thanks for reading! Please review and tell me what you thought! :-)**


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